4th Street Brawl
by MD Owen
Summary: New York City, Thanksgiving 1988. Yippee ki yay Cowabunga.
1. Part 1: Line of Least Resistance

**4th Street Brawl**

 _A TMNT/Die Hard 4 part - mini crossover_

 _Rated Teen for strong language and violence. Part 1 of 4._

* * *

 **Part I: Line of Least Resistance**

 _Thursday, November 24th, 1988_

On one side of the map, the average citizens of New York City enjoyed turkey dressing and pumpkin pies on their autumn-shaded tablecloths with statues of flimsy scare-crows boasting lopsided grins overlooking hot feasts and pompous relatives.

The other side bred citizens like Casey Jones, who only moments before had his uncle call him a good for nothing bastard over the phone and hoped a truck smeared him like giblets down the road. An uncle who only called once a year to remind Casey that roaches were more important to him than his own nephew. Casey grew bored of the insults and hung up midway through the call, dangling the phone on the wall and leaving his dad snoozing away in whiskey dreams on the couch.

His family sucked butt, but Casey needed stress management on this night, and two little teen shit-rags down 4th Street with hairdos that even made the current eighties fashion cry decided to hammer their way through the window of a closed pawn shop.

"Fee fi fo fum, who are you little shits? I don't care. Get down from there!" he sung a few bars but quickly became irritated at his own voice fumbling through his mask.

One of the boys saluted Casey with a middle finger and gnawed through the gum. He shot a glance at his equally unimpressed partner and they rolled their eyes.

"Scram, Jones. Go work at the soup kitchen or whatever you do these days," the partner dismissed Casey like a stray cat.

The November air was chilly, and Casey squeezed his hockey stick from the anger gurgling in his chest. "Can't let you do this, Kevin. Not no more." He twirled a slick new hockey stick in his hand. "You and Swampy touch the glass, I beat your ass."

"I guess you got knocked over the head too many times; it's Torque!" Kevin shouted, his frosty breath obscuring Swampy's irritated face. "My ass is too stone for ya, Jones. Even my old man can't get any blood out of me."

Amused at the comment more than a person should be, Swampy yelled like a chimp into the night,"He don't bleeeeeed! Bleeeeeeeeed!" he chanted over and over until Casey stopped twirling and reared the stick up for a deadly strike. Swampy's chants turned into squeals once he jerked out of harm's way and smacked his face on the wall, dropping into the brumal pavement . While he saw stars and diamonds dancing behind his eyes, Torque and Casey tussled over each other two feet down the alley. Thirty seconds into the fight, Casey remembered Torque was a black belt, but nothing could stop Casey from unleashing everything into a shitty thug.

With his psychedelic brain show over, Swampy sat up and rubbed his head. A quick flash around the corner caught his foggy attention as Torque's face smacked against the wall. "Hey, Torque, just deck him and split. Five-O comin'."

Stuttering through saliva and blood, Torque gained momentum from the wall and forced Casey to avoid tripping on an empty black bottle and, instead, crash into a broken gym set and plastic totes. The noise alerted two curious by-standers, who shuffled around the mouth of the alley then idly scurried away when a black Buick Sedan rolled to the curb. The blue and red lights from the Sedan's dashboard swallowed the pedestrians' fading shadows and the darkness in the alley. The only things Swampy left behind were his cursing and the overloaded smell of liquor and the last bottle of huffed nail polish. His fallen comrade, Torque, scrambled halfway over the fence, hissing, "So not cool, homey," before a pair of hands yanked him off it. He saw more of the night sky at that moment than he had since he was a kid.

"Officer!" Casey swung a struggling Torque like he was mopping the floor with the criminal to the entrance. "Officer! Over here! I got one for ya. Caught him trying to break in over here, messing around where he shouldn't be. There was another fella but he..." As he explained the situation, the Sedan owner, dressed in a rugged leather jacket over a wrinkled business suit and one hand over his hip, scanned over the streets and into the alley. Casey slowed down his story, sensing the guy wasn't paying attention to him. "-and so I grabbed him before he left. Are you a real officer?"

Finally the Sedan owner faced Casey, stuffing back his hands in his pockets. He acted almost too comfortable. "You think that light in there is for show, kid? It hurts my eyes. I wouldn't turn it on unless I had to." He nodded in Casey's direction. "Let the boy go."

Casey didn't know if it was leftover adrenaline or if the mysterious guy's tone was irritating him, but he felt bolder. "Okay, as soon as I see your badge, Officer. Anybody can put a light on their dashboard. No uniform either. Show me the goods."

The officer smirked, nodded in agreement, and slowly pulled out a gold badge, the flashing lights washing over its glint. "Anything else, McFly?"

Torque's head thumped against the pavement, stunning him, but he could still hear the conversation above him. Glee pulsed in his chest as he knew Casey's mouth would get his own self in trouble sooner or later and with a VERY well-known detective on the street. Casey was about to step into major shit with this guy!

"My bad, Detective," Casey held up his gloved hands in defense. "They short handed on the force lately or something? Sending out the desk guys? Things that bad now?" He tried being a little genuine with the last question but it flew out of his mouth on the wave of boldness still reeling in his body.

"Detectives are still officers, doofus. Law Enforcement 101. I see you missed the common sense class, too. Manners. Hygiene." The detective stepped on the curb, sizing up Casey who was shrinking by the moment. "Why aren't you home eating turkey with your folks? Enjoying some pie with, uh, whip cream and chocolate chip thingies."

"Doing what I gotta do," Casey swallowed, feeling a nervous twitch in his throat; the adrenaline was gone now. "Ain't no turkey for me at home, Detective. Lots of turkeys out here though." Torque laughed from the ground, and Casey's foot instinctually kicked him in the shoulder. "Too much gobbling." He hoped a little humor would save his butt.

"Well, Mr. Turkey McFly, you and Giggles can join me in a very warm place. Well the front lobby is warm but the jail cell might be chilly so-"

Casey grunted, "Why am I getting-?!"

"SO- I was about to say," the detective held up his hand passively, "if you keep your trap shut, I'll let you go with a warning." He looked towards the ground, noticed Torque wasn't lying there, and sighed as part of a dramatic production, "Some crime fighter you are, Turkey. He got away."

"What!" Casey turned to the alley. "That snake! I'll kill him!" He screamed it over and over and the rage left his fists again. He shoved over the scattered totes and threw his entire energy into demolishing the dumpster. The detective stood back, shaking his head, and regretted not grabbing the other kid sooner to keep Casey from disturbing the peace.

"You got a temper problem, kid. Anyone ever told you that?"

A number of wild expletives filled the pungent air of the alley followed by the empty black bottle Casey avoided tripping over earlier whistling through the air, shattering the very window Torque and Swampy had been attempting to force open. The detective pulled out his handcuffs and dangled them in the air. Casey stopped mid-swing against the second window, saw the shadows of the handcuffs against the wall, and his anger melted into fear, then regret, then desperation, and finally, guilt.

What a way to spend a Thanksgiving night...

* * *

It felt like hours had passed since the cop stuffed him in the backseat but the full moon hadn't moved an inch in the sky, and the scraps and bumps on his head were stinging. His own fault, Casey moaned, for slamming his noggin against the door in childish, and a little fearful, rage. He calmed down once the cop, the detective, or whatever the guy was, cranked the engine and drove, but once Casey felt a glance burning into his face, his knees twitched again.

The detective's relaxed gaze eased over to Casey's hockey stick in the front seat. His tone seemed cooler. "I'm still pissed about the Swedes winning last year. The Canucks deserved that win even if they were in fourth. Hate the communists. They should be disqualified for being stupid."

Casey's chest was on the verge of a deep chuckle, but the car hit a dip in the road and his chuckle emerged as a burp. "Maybe '88 will be their year. It needs to be somebody's year 'cuz it ain't mine." He forced another chuckle, half expecting the detective to agree and maybe give him a break, and while it didn't come true, Casey saw a small smile hooked in the corner of the detective's polished face. Managed that at least, he thought.

"So much for our taxes paying for these potholes, right?" the detective grumbled and checked for any reaction from the backseat. Casey was deathly afraid of talking about politics or taxes since the time his nasty uncle threw Casey's distant cousin out the window for dissing Reagan. For a fleeting moment, he wondered how angry his uncle was now that they had a new president, some guy with the last name of Bush.

'Okay, Jones,' Casey nodded to the voice in his head, 'changed the subject. Uh, go back to the Commies but don't say something stupid.' He cleared his throat. "The Commies know their shi-" put the brakes on the language, Jones! "-stuff when it comes to the ice. They'll win next year's, I bet."

The detective played along with the friendly rivalry. "If the US don't get their hands out of their butts and stop pumping drugs, they might have a shot. You can't hold a syringe in one hand and a-" he waved his right hand for dramatic flair and pointed at Casey's equipment next to him, "-a twig in the other."

Casey was impressed with the detective's hockey lingo. "Naw, we got a chance too. Nobody's shooting up drugs there. All the addicts live in this dump." He found he was embarrassed by his dirty hair. All hockey players had a great head of lettuce under those helmets!

"You don't have to tell me twice, kid. I hate boom-boxes. I'm gonna blow up every last one!"

Casey chimed in, "Especially the ones blasting that Rico Suave crap."

The atmosphere certainly changed into something more manageable for the young Casey. Whoever this detective guy was, he wasn't too bad. He was the first male authority figure in a while that wasn't berating Casey over the lack of a good future in a miserable, cold city.

Did this car ride _need_ to end..?

After more potholes and Commie talk, the detective almost missed a redlight and stomped on his brakes. Casey's head slung forward and snapped back, reminding him that his head was still tender from the fight, but once he heard the clattering of his weapons of mass street destruction fumble to the floorboard, he ignored his bruises and dared to check on his babies!

The detective groaned as he reached down to pick the weapons up and replaced them back in the seat. He didn't notice Casey's softer look in his direction for doing such a good deed. "Hope your old man gets you some new play toys for Christmas. These seen better days."

Well, the conversation had to eventually circle back to his parents. If only the guy knew Casey's dad was more worried about turkey and football on any given day of the year than his own son, but there wasn't a need to make ANY conversation about that.

" I got my Christmas list all ready for him. He ain't getting no cookies!" He whimpered out a dry chuckle, embarrassed he was letting his emotions creep to the surface.

But the detective didn't play on it. He added, "I'd like to see lists from my kids, but eh... they ain't around right now. All John Jr. wants is Hot wheels and those little... micro machine things. Give him those and he's set for next year."

Is this guy a crappy father, too? Now the uncomfortable level rose in the back seat for Casey. Too many bad memories of broken toys that faded into no toys and nothing else. At least the cop/detective/hockey lover guy was employed, so he was leagues ahead of Casey's old man. Maybe Casey could care about the situation, but this was the same guy who arrested him and shoved him in the back of a police car.

"You hungry, McFly? My treat."

Casey looked at the front seat and saw the detective's eyes staring at him. Kind eyes. Concerned. The car parked in front of a smokey cafe, barely lit on the outside but buzzing inside with warm food. After the engine shut off, Casey heard complaints from his stomach. He wondered how long it had been doing that... "Sure," he said and watched the detective slide out of the car.

"Sit tight." He walked off and shouted back, "The name's John McClane. I prefer you still say Detective McClane to me though." He thought he was a hot shot, Casey's first thought was, but his smile was as genuine as his eyes. He walked to the cafe with the confidence of a man doing the right thing for a kid down on his luck.

Casey said, "Thanks..." but the detective _could have_ taken the handcuffs off, right?


	2. Part II: A Nose for Danger

**4th Street Brawl**

 _A TMNT/Die Hard 4 part mini crossover_

 _Rated Teen for strong language and violence._

* * *

 **Part II: A Nose for Danger**

Before his hand rounded the chilly doorknob to the Diner, John McClane looked both ways down the sidewalk before he crossed over the hunger pains squealing from his stomach. Okay, it was Thanksgiving Day, but nobody was milling the streets, no shouting in the distance, or a fart in the wind. Too damn quiet in the one of the punk centrals of the city! He peeped through the window and saw three sleepy patrons in the diner, a rather jolly looking Cook preparing plates, and a homely waitress wiping tables and staring back and forth at the tv's fuzzy signal.

McClane felt an invisible pull to glance at his right, like a radar pointing down a couple of blocks. Something wasn't checking out. The rough kids went crazy with graffiti down 4th street practically on schedule, but the only spray cans making noise were the empty ones on the ground from the calm wind. Nothing made him more nervous than an unexplained ghost town.

He looked back at the car, seeing the kid he arrested lay his head against the door. The last thing he needed was a trip to the infirmary and more paperwork over an arrest. Besides, the kid was kind of cool, except for liking the wrong hockey team.

The sticky, warm diner's air tunneled through his nose as he shut the door softly behind him, careful not to disturb the peace and be on his best behavior while grabbing burgers. All of the holiday night's craziness was over with, he figured.

* * *

"Leo, you don't need to walk around with your katanas out. You look like a prison guard," a mutant turtle with a knack for crawling over walls of amateur graffiti and annoying the mess out of his quartet said. He hung upside down from a clothing line. "No-one's around. I looked!"

The 'Leo' mutant turtle, visibly exasperated and clenching his katanas, reached his neck around the corner for any signs of danger. "Forgive me if I don't completely trust your judgment, Mikey. The last time you said that, I almost ended up in a dumpster truck. I couldn't shake off that smell for weeks. Not to mention, we live underground..."

Mikey laughed, leaping from the wall and landing with a slight shake on his feet. "Don was your lookout, not me!" An unexplored section of graffiti caught his short attention span. "FINALLY! Some chump knows how to obstruct city property. Either you do it right or don't do it at all, right?!"

Mutant turtle number three named 'Don' looked up at the graffiti, nodded, and craned his neck to peer further into the night sky. "I air smells better in the sewers, but the stars are what catches my eye. Are we going to crawl up on the roof? I brought my telescope." He stepped back, really absorbing the sky's beauty, but he remembered something. Or someone. "Raph, you can come out of the shadows now. No one's around." He and Mikey snickered.

"We almost forgot about him AGAIN. He's too quiet!" Mikey said, eyeing something moving in the darkness. He pointed in its direction. "Is that a rat or a hamster on steroids?"

Don squinted. "Looks and smells like a cat." He shoved his eyes back to the sky.

"At least one of us is level headed and keeping QUIET-" Leo hissed at Mikey, who thought chasing a scared cat around a cramped alley was a great idea. "Where is your discipline, Michelangelo?!"

"He left it on Second Street, as soon as he saw the adult store," Don chuckled, gliding a couple of steps to avoid a scared feline's claws. "We need to get him a cat or a gerbil or something one day."

Once the cat escaped the alley in a frenzy, Mikey scaled the walls and tore through the cold air with kicks and punches. All three of his turtle brothers dodged every single one without missing a tick. "It's boring this side of town now, Leo. We cleaned out all of the criminals!" He grabbed for Leo's hands, knowing Leo would catch on quickly. "If we're going to sneak out, we might as well have some fun."

Leo turned from looking down the street and into Mikey's feet. He was doing a handstand in the most absurd place and THEN wanted a high five from Leo. Mikey was lucky to still have his legs in proper working order after Leo swung at him without looking.

Don didn't look away from the sky either. "Can you at least put away one of your katanas, Leo? It's kind of insulting to me that you don't think I CAN tell when it's safe. My vision is better than twenty-twenty." He heard a dry chuckle from Raph in the shadows. "The last time I checked anyways."

Leo's katanas slid into their sheaths, like the swift night air through their territory. "It's not that. Something feels off about tonight. I really think we should go..."

"Then you go. We'll be fine up here." Don ducked from an airborne Mikey and said, "We went through the same training as you and the Night Watchman over there. I'm offended that you think.."

Raph was nowhere near the shadows any longer and spoke from a railing above them, interrupting Don's speech. "Hey, bros..." His alerting whistle struck a higher pitch than a bit of cross wind, enough to snatch Leo's attention and vanish with Raph and Don back in the darkness. Mikey's determination to finish his mid-air kick and defy all of gravity's odds met a swift end with tipping over a trash can.

"Great job, McFly!" Don's voice snapped over the cans rolling in the alley. Mikey's sloppy apologies vanished with the mutant quartet into a dark, invisible void conjoined to the back of the alley.

His order finished in an impressive amount of time already, John McClane stood at the mouth of a peculiar alley, knowing something was amiss. He heard a whistle in the snap and a clattering of debris from the direction he approached. "Guess Holly might be on to something about my hearing..." The greasy brown bag drooped out of his grip, and a small whimper came from the ground. McClane grinned at a thin brown dog. Reminded him of a Labrador he had as a kid, named Nutmeg. He shared a piece of burger with the mutt, watching it vacuum the food from the haggard sidewalk.

"Eat up, buddy. You probably don't have too long to go now."

McClane hung around the alley for a few minutes, dropping more pieces of his burger for the dog until there was no more. He peered through the alley for another chance to scope any kind of mischief. Nothing happened, only whining from the mutt for more grub. McClane shook his head no at it and walked back to his patrol car, at a good distance away.

Glowing eyes watched McClane disappear. Leo released his breath he was holding, Don and Mikey laughed off the stress, and Raph returned on the railing, wondering why the detective didn't kick the strays away like other cops did. He must have been lost in his thoughts a while when Leo's command shook from nowhere.

" _Iza_!"

Only the stray dog was left behind, sniffing the ground and shivering from the cold. Its ears leapt on its furry head once a couple of jarring voices approached the territory, armed with fresh spray paint cans and a thirst for chaos again. Four sets of irritated, curious eyes burned from the alley's void at the new, cocky intruders.

"Jones is with the pigs now, Swampy. 'Bout time his ass got jailed," Torque hollered as he marked a big black 'X' over decent graffiti.

Swampy rattled in his new _My Bloody Valentine_ backpack, courtesy of a five finger lift off the busy streets earlier in the day. "When he gets out, we're gonna break his kneecaps and kick his jaw in." He pulled out an armload of cans and cigarettes. "We're gonna fuck him up!"

Torque stopped his painting and threw a hard look in Swampy's direction. " I don't know why you so upset, homefry. You left me with Jones and the roller." His bluntness struck hard with Swampy, who manically attacked the wall with spray cans of multiple colors and when the cans emptied, he chucked them into the wall.

He declared, "Damn him! He's always messing stuff up!" and launched an arsenal of trash from the ground into the wall and slung a bag of used syringes into the void. Neither of the boys noticed it never hit the ground. Like something _caught_ it. Swampy raced after the frightened dog, trying his ragged best to kick and abuse it.

"You gotta stay off that crack if you can't handle it, man." Torque watched the dog slink away from Swampy's threat and cackled at his friend's loss and a sloppy attempt at skipping down the alley like a kid on a sugar high.

But Swampy saw his good time come to a screeching halt when something slammed in the back of his head. "Ow, homes! Don't hit me." He almost tripped over what hit him on the ground. It was his old bag of syringes. "What the hell was that? I threw this shit over there."

Torque shook his head. "I didn't hit you." He and Swampy slowly peered at the barren wasteland void, bewildered.

Swampy threw up his hands, challenging the coward in the darkness. "Come out, motherfuckers! COME GET ME!"

Everything he had thrown in the void soared back at him, tenfold, from three different directions. He screamed at the top of his lungs, ducked through the alley, and blazed through the same path as the dog did. Torque bumped into some _thing_ behind him.

A gruff voice boomed from a bulky shadow and glowing eyes. "Where did your friend go?"

Torque became his namesake and left his dignity at the feet of the mysterious voice.

Mikey shot one final spray paint can in Torque's direction and it bounced off his back, sending the kid nicking a light pole and whimpering louder than the dog did. "Pick on someone your own size, jerks! Poor dog."

Leo and Don finished clearing the trash off the ground and into a heavy dumpster further down the way. Don said, "Don't get between Mikey and animals," while Leo turned his nose up at the _My Bloody Valentine_ backpack and bag of syringes and drugs.

"Those kids deserved it," Raph added and climbed up the ladder, back to his lookout. He saw someone cruising to the alley on feet, almost as fast as Raph could spot it.

The brothers deserted their positions once Raph whistled the " _Iza_!" and the wind drafted the smell and presence of John McClane thundering in the alley. "I KNEW something was going on over here! Who's there?!" Breathless, McClane glanced up and down the street, flashing his light down the void. Nothing moved. "Just because it's Thanksgiving, doesn't mean I'll go easy on you _skel_ asses. I got plenty more room in the back of my car."

...nothing _human_ moved. Four bulky green short ... creatures blinked back at him through the light.


	3. Part III: and Other Strangeness

**4th Street Brawl**

 _A TMNT/Die Hard 4 part mini crossover_

 _Rated T for strong language and violence._

* * *

 **Part III: ...and Other Strangeness**

"Rude," one of the bulky creatures scoffed at McClane, who noticed the beam from his flashlight shaking from green creature to green creature.

"He's not used to seeing forms like us, Michelangelo. At least be courteous."

"But he doesn't even know me and he said he's going to beat my ass, Leo!"

McClane regained his composure and shone the light straight in the last one's eyes, blinding it temporarily and causing it to squeal like a pig. "Come again? You too chicken shit to face me?" The beam splashed over all four creatures.

The one farthest in the back practically growled at McClane. "Go see where you gotta go, pal. Make this simple on yourself and forget what you saw-"

"YOU TALKING THAT WAY TO ME, KID?" McClane's voice boomed through the alleyway. It should have been a force to be reckoned with, but it brought the giggles to two of the creatures.

The leaner, taller of the four creatures said, "Hey, if nobody knew better, this guy looks like he's standing here talking to himself. We can ditch him. I've got a fresh writing document on my Commodore waiting for me back home."

The crybaby creature's laughter burned McClane's ears. "All right, scumbag Houdinis, this is your only chance to beat it and play your magic tricks somewhere else. I know you kids like dressing up like it's Halloween every day, but not on the street." He felt pressured to step closer and quiz the kids on what kind of drugs they might be on, but something in their voices made him believe this was their first encounter with authorities. Might give them a warning if they don't get too cocky.

"What's he gonna do? Call our dad?" They all snickered like they had the biggest secret in the world.

McClane's light glared on the one kid who hadn't kept his mouth shut since the beginning. The shadows on the wall ballooned the closer he stomped towards them, furious. "Yeah, yeah. That's what I'll do, crybaby. I might do something your dad didn't do, and clock your head in a few times. How would you like that, you little -"

The small crowded alleyway on 4th Street welcomed another contestant: a screechy elderly lady flooding the entire alley with a spotlight powered by a quarter of New York state. "You're scaring my cats. Go scream somewhere else!" A chorus of pitiful cat cries swarmed in her direction. She consoled them with pet names for each one and insults against the strangers, dumping a bag of trash and narrowly missing the cans by inches.

McClane's problem became very clear: his flashlight wasn't powerful enough to capture such a pivotal moment.

"What in the..."

He squinted his eyes. "...ever loving..."

Somewhere in the background, the old lady screamed again, but he didn't catch what she said. The blood pumped in his ears, something he hadn't felt for a long time. "...almighty CHRIST!" Those weren't costumes, McClane. Hell no!

The lady hovered around her overturned trash cans, pointing a finger resembling a twisted branch at the strangers. "I even wore panties tonight. Screw all of you! Get out before I call the police." The slamming of her pristine yellow door in a backdrop of murky city life frightened every alley cat milling around over her steps.

McClane rubbed his eyes as if he were in a terrible dream. He heard the crybaby green one grumble, "Cat's out of the bag now," and another whose voice said, "...some ninjas we are." It might have belong to the one who said something about a Commodore earlier; McClane was too busy gawking at what was in front of him. He tried remaining calm but he yelled, "ARE YOU REALLY TALL AND GREEN? WHAT ARE YOU?" as all four creature things waved at him to shush.

"Lower your voice," said what must be the Alpha Male of the group, McClane reckoned, judging by its gruff tone and puffed chest. "Before I have to lower it-"

"We're not here to hurt you!" The one named ' _Leo_ ' leapt in front of the Gruffy one. McClane liked the tone of ' _Leo's_ ' voice from the get-go. "We can leave right now and none of us saw anything."

"Oh, I see you all right." McClane wrangled his gun out of its holster and lifted it slowly on his targets. "Don't come any closer. Not playing around here, kids. If you are kids.. or human.."

The Commodore talking creature pointed his thumb behind him. "So you're more scared of four green mutant turtles who thwarted off a couple of thugs than that walking prune in a thong just now?"

The Gruffy one snorted, "Unbelievable."

McClane whipped his sight straight on Gruffy. "I don't like your tone of voice, little guy."

"LITTLE?! I'm a mutant turtle, in case you haven't NOTICED. You know I might-"

"Raph, don't!" Leo barricade himself between his brother and McClane, but the bulky Raph stepped closer, intimidating his first human guest.

"-I might melt your brain or impregnate your wife. Imagine having to explain that one, Sherlock."

While at first McClane was slightly amused by the insult, the way Crybaby and Geeky guffawed and cackled like hyenas made his lip snarl. Couldn't ninjas laugh quietly?

With Leo's leadership crumbled to dust, he hissed, "Language, Raph!" and threw his hands in the air. McClane was plenty familiar with exasperation, mainly from his wife, Holly. How odd was it to compare his beautiful wife to a green stranger with the swords in a dark alley?

"Like I'm going to watch my mouth to a guy who's holding a gun at my head?" Raph dismissed his brother and stared dead-eyed at McClane. "Pull it when you're ready, Roy Rodgers. Give Mikey here a show."

"I watched him this morning!" Crybaby had a name then. He performed jumping jacks on the sidewalk. "It comes on channel four at 6:30am after the Bloomberg news. All of those scrolling numbers and words hurt my eyes after ten seconds." How in god's name did the others put up with the one called Mikey? Not even John Jr and Lucy acted this busy, even after a trip to the candy and cupcake store. Could it be sniffing some angel dust?

"The joke's on you, you big green tub of fuck," McClane said, aiming at Raph, "My wife lives across the country and got her tubes tied. And where the hell do you live? Did you escape from the zoo? A circus?"

Raph wore the world's biggest cynical grin. Since McClane didn't want to shoot the bastard and get tied up with the FBI and Area 51, he chose to look at another green creature in the bunch. The taller one looked less harmless.

"We got evicted," it said, leaving McClane no choice but to look to their leader, Leo, for a final chance at a civilized conversation.

Leo was as ready as a bull for castration. "Can we talk about this without involving the gun, please? Mister...? I'm sure you have a name. I can call you 'sir' or 'my liege'."

Mikey leaned on McClane's shoulder, pointing at the gun. "I can steal it from him if you want. Keep it as a souvenir?"

Leo clawed the air for Mikey. "Get over here! No! No souvenirs."

Intrigued by a green, fearless kid, McClane sniffed his left shoulder where it touched him. Smelled like old bath water and toe cheese.

"We ain't from no ZOO," came a threatening tone. McClane didn't have to look in its direction either. He inhaled the clammy night air and met Raph's glare.

"...nothing to do with those polar bears that mauled the 11 year old last year then?"

Raph barreled through Leo and the taller one like they were paper walls. "I DON'T FUCKING KILL KIDS! DO I LOOK LIKE A POLAR BEAR?!" The sheer power of his words and the glint of raw offense from the green boy's eyes forced McClane to take a step back, almost off the sidewalk. All three of the hot head's brothers caged him, pleading him to let it go.

"He's not worth it, brother!" Leo yelled into Raph's head and hastily changed his speech into a foreign language, still screaming the words with much vigor. McClane recognized it as Japanese but that was as much as he knew. Mikey shooed away a cat out of the alley before it was crushed under pounds of frantic turtle feet. After enough clicker tongue talk among all four brothers, Raph rejected the idea of beating a human detective's skull in and brushed his Swat team family off him. McClane imagined the other brothers kept Raph out of trouble quite often.

"Raph, no! DON'T!"

McClane ducked from a hurling ball of fur, claws, and screeches. He pranced in the street, watching a cat out of its ever loving mind running for its life into the safety of darkness. Before he knew it, McClane was damn near crying in the street from laughter. "Did you just-" he couldn't breathe and when he did, he tasted a mix of lukewarm night air he already inhaled. "Did you just throw a CAT at me, kid?!"

Mikey was livid at Raph, milling around him from a safe distance. "Animal abuse!"

"Do something about it then, hero!" Raph paddled in his adrenaline. Mikey lifted a trash can and rolled it in Raph's direction, stalling him with enough time to shove him against the wall. They beat each other up. Again.

McClane's throat was sore from coughing. He heard Leo's rather timid voice ask, "Are you okay, Mister...?"

"Leo, let's get out of here while we can-"

"Hang on, Don."

Raph's voice echoed down the alley, "What's your damn problem? It's not like they're an endangered animal or anything-" SMASH.

"McClane," he tucked away his gun without a second thought. "John. I've had a lot of things thrown at me but a cat is the first. Are you the oldest one of this ragtag bunch?" He regained his balance and stepped on the curb.

Leo bowed, like some genuine samurai out of the movies. "I consider myself the oldest, cannot tell you our names unfortunately. We're not supposed to be here-"

McClane pointed at the two brothers in the alley trying to stuff each other in a dumpster. "Well I know that one's Raph... the wild child there. He's got some kind of feline olympics going on there." A shadow figure squeezed out of the alley fight, bounced off the wall, and landed in front of McClane.

"I'm Michaelangelo! Call me Mikey. I like your gun! How long have you been a cop? Do you really like to eat a lot of donuts? Do you get a discount on donuts? Have you ever flown off of really big skyscrapers with a bunch of fire exploding behind you?"

Don slid beside Mikey, dodging a swinging Raph, "I'm Geraldo, and if you're falling of a building with fire behind you, chances are I'm the one who ignited it." He and Mikey had the whitest teeth for aliens McClane had ever seen. He reached for a cigarette and lit it bright into the night. It had to be almost one in the morning now.

"I don't like skyscrapers. My feet are perfectly fine on the ground," McClane tapped his shoe, "and I'm more of a sausage and biscuit kind of guy. Sweet foods make me too lazy. I can't run down the bozos if I eat donuts all the time." He looked in Leo's direction. "Do you give this short brother of yours a sugar drip?"

Mikey sat on the ground, Indian style, his eyes glimmering from seeing sight of McClane's gun. "Your style is BANGIN'! You smoke and talk like a detective! I knew you were a detective because I watch early morning shows before all of the soap operas come on. The news gives you guys a bad rep, but I see how hard you work and what you have to put up with and I'm just not down with that at all, dude." He held up his wiggling green hand. "GIVE ME THREE!"

McClane folded three of his fingers and patted the fanboy's excited hands. Somewhere near the dumpsters, Raph muttered, "Suck up," and slammed the lid so hard it shook a nearby street light.

The alien self proclaimed as Geraldo shot back at Raph in the darkness. "Go chase a cat. There's only like a billion of them down here. What does that lady feed them?"

Leo zipped around his brothers like he was directing traffic. "We really need to get back home, Mr. McClane. Our sensei will be very concerned of our safety and not to mention we'll probably do katas until we can't move-"

McClane tilted his head, intrigued by the evening's performances. "Do you, uh... have a spaceship?"

Mikey and Geraldo shouted, "I wished!"

Leo shook his head, laughing, "Of course not. Where in the world would we park it, sir?"

"It might be invisible? Have I walked into it already?" McClane stretched his arms to showcase a street with a hidden secret. "You can't be from here. Earth, I mean." He blew smoke into the night sky, looking at it fondly. "It's boring down here if you ask me."

Mikey, Leo, Geraldo, and Raph exchanged awkward glances. Mikey tapped his foot on the ground, in the same style McClane did earlier, he noticed, and he stared at the ground until it dawned on him. "You are- you live underground? Under there?"

Leo smacked Mikey on the shell and jabbed his beak in Mikey's cheek. "I didn't say nothing, Leo. Your breath smells like bleach, dude. Get back!" He shoved Leo with his elbow and slid over to McClane's side. "Hey you said you have a wife. Does that mean you have kids too? Do they carry around little guns and badges?"

Delighted to get any chance to show off his brood, McClane chuckled and dug for his wallet. "John Junior used to. Lucy is into her dolls and make-up now. If they make a Barbie cop, I might be cool again." Mikey squealed at the pictures of two bug eyed little humans and paraded through his group happily showing the pictures. A pile of McClane's cards fell out of the wallet, including plane tickets. Leo and Mikey swept them up and dropped them in McClane's hands. "Yeah, I'm uh.. heading to L.A. next month, spending Christmas there with my family." He rammed the tickets and card in his wallet, getting a little anxious over running his mouth too much to a group of... whatever they were's. Underground alien turtles. And why was he worried about telling them his life? Who was going to interrogate them anytime soon? Big Foot?

McClane threw down his cigarette, snuffing it with his foot. "Ya know, I have this kid who's been sitting in the back of my car for..." checked his watch for the first time- yep, one fifteen A.M., "...a while now, and I don't know if this has been real or if I'm on candid camera or if your costumes are really that damn good, but..."

The four brothers waited for him to finish in the most calm manner he had seen them during their confrontation. Calm, or like they saw a ghost.

"...it's not been too bad."

His words repeated in his head forever, like a broken record. There was smoke, some noises, cats screeching, the old lady yelling again, and several voices going, "Ow! He made do it!" before the world tuned John McClane out.


	4. Part IV: Out of Touch

**4th Street Brawl**

 _A TMNT/Die Hard 4 part mini crossover_

 _Rated T for strong language and violence._

 _Here we are with a short chapter to wrap up this 'strange' tale for our characters.. ;)_

* * *

 **Part IV: Out of Touch**

"Detective McClane, you still with us?"

McClane saw his hands on the steering wheel of the reliable Buick Sedan. And that was McFly's voice he heard so they were back in the car. Did he leave the car in the first place? A light aroma of greasy food brought his glance to the passenger seat where the bag of food sat, barely touched.

The back of his neck sure was stinging and his sinuses were as clogged as his arteries from the diner burgers. He remembered the four green kids and how scared they looked before the lights went out in his head. Did somebody attack him? Why would they put him back in the car? Did the kids do it?

"If you're alright, sir, is it okay if I can have my burger now?"

McClane rummaged in the bag and absentmindedly tossed the burger in the backseat. He left poor McFly with the hockey mask in the backseat for an hour or more, and the kid never booked it either. Stellar.

"Can I get these cuffs off me for a minute so I can eat?"

"Shit..." McClane sighed, wincing at the unexplainable pain in his neck as he got out of the car and opened McFly's door. He helped the kid out of the car and unlocked his wrists. "I'm sorry, kid. You can take your burger and go home. Just don't be out bashing anybody's head in. It's late. Sleep tight." He slammed the squeaky door and walked back to the driver's side.

* * *

Casey's wrists were a little sore. What a crazy ass night. "What did I do... right? I mean, why are you letting me go?"

Detective McClane looked around the neighborhood behind him. "Because, uh.." he was watching out for _something_ , "I'm a nice guy, I guess. Do you want to go to jail?"

Casey pointed to the front seat where his hockey gear still laid. "Can I have those back?" He knew he sounded pitiful, but it was his only earthly possessions. "I slept most of the time when you were gone. You looked scared, that's all I'm sayin'. "

McClane handed back Casey's belongings and rubbed his dry eyes. "Long night, kid. Loooooong ass night."

Casey loaded up his gear on his person and added, "No matter what anybody says, Detective, strange stuff is going on and I know it ain't us."

McClane acted clueless. "Huh? What do ya mean?"

" _Us_. Humans." Casey used the tip of his hockey stick to tap his own noggin. "I won't let them take me quietly." He snapped the dirty white mask over his head, gave a thumbs up, and bounded down the street to who knows where.

McClane shook his head and felt sorry for the next generation if they had a kid like McFly leading them. He ignited the Sedan's cranky engine and let it idle for a moment. A broadcast of silly teenage voices rang through his mind. It was slowly coming back to him, what happened after the curtain drew close over his eyes, and he chuckled at the thought of all four green kids pleading with an unknown person, or alien, for their punishments to be withheld. It must have been the sensei they babbled about, but it sounded more like kids bargaining with a parent. Not long after, he woke up unharmed in the driver's seat.

He gripped the steering wheel harder as he remembered one of the last things he heard Raph snorting, "Yeah, I saw those stupid pictures, Mikey! And he calls us mutants and freaks?"

 _Oh, you'll cross my path again, pal... and I'll make you eat your words_ , he cackled. He hadn't noticed a couple of the diner patrons staring outside his window like he was insane.

Raph's voice finished with a imperious crescendo, "Maybe he'll get his ass handed to him in L.A. Merry Christmas, detective asshole."

 _The end._


End file.
